Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue eBook

“Leave me, sir! leave me, or I will call upon
my uncle to protect me from further insult!”

“Your uncle, I fear, was left at the
last wood-yard; so I heard my friend De Guy say.”

Emily felt herself the victim of a plot, and, rousing
all her energies, she said,

“I see it all. The machinations of a villain—­for
such you are—­shall be foiled.”

“Miss Dumont,” said Maxwell, his passions
roused by the severity of her epithet, “do you
forget your condition? You are a slave!
Your supposed uncle is not here. You have no
free papers, and are liable to be committed to the
next jail.”

“But I am not without a friend who is able to
protect me,” said Emily, with spirit, as she
saw Henry Carroll ascend to the deck upon which they
stood.

“Your friend is helpless. Another word,
and I will proclaim your condition,” and he
rudely seized her by the arm. “Your friend
cannot help you. He has not your free papers.”

“But he has a strong arm!” shouted Henry
Carroll, as with a single blow he struck the attorney
to the deck.

“This way, Emily,” said he to the weeping
girl, who clung tremblingly to him; “you are
safe now.”

Emily was conducted by the gallant arm which had protected
her from we know not what indignity. She felt
secure in his presence from further molestation, and
his soothing words and hopeful promises did much to
restore her.

Maxwell soon recovered from the effects of the blow
he had received, and, boiling with passion, swore
vengeance upon the man who had interrupted him.
But his passion was of short duration, and was succeeded
by sober reflections upon the “position of his
case.” Emily Dumont was not of that class
of women with whom he was accustomed to deal.
He had found in her an element with which he had not
before been conversant,—­of which, indeed,
he had read in books of poetry, but did not believe
it existed in the material world.

CHAPTER XI.

“Caught,
caught

In thine own trap! Thou hast confessed it
all,—­
The means, the end, the motive,—­laid
all Bare!
O, thou poor knave!—­and that convenient
friend
Who swears or unswears, speaks or holds his peace,
At thy command,—­you have conspired
together!”

LOVELL.

On board the Chalmetta, Harwell discovered an old
acquaintance in the person of a notorious gambler,—­a
class of persons who congregate on Mississippi steamers,
and practise their arts upon the unwary traveller.
This person, who went by the name of Vernon, was well
known at the faro and roulette boards in New Orleans.
He was an accomplished swindler. In the winter
season, when the city is crowded with the elite of
the state, and with strangers from all parts of the
Union, Vernon found abundant exercise for his professional
ability at the hells of the city, in the employment
of their proprietors, acting the part of banker, or
anything else that offered him the means of gratifying
his luxurious habits. A twinge of conscience
never prevented him from adopting any means of emptying
the pockets of his victims, even without the formality
of dice or cards.